


There's a Wolf in My Bed

by halcyon1993



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asshole Jackson, Beta Scott McCall, Dead Peter Hale, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Derek Uses His Words, Emotional Constipation, Fantasizing, Grocery Shopping, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Meddling Erica, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Stiles, Pining Derek Hale, Pining Stiles Stilinski, Protective Erica, Requited Unrequited Love, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Scott is a Bad Friend, Season/Series 02, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Unexpected Visitors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-05-27 08:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6276220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyon1993/pseuds/halcyon1993
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three weeks after helping Derek stop his uncle, Stiles returns home from school to find the new alpha fast asleep on his bed. He doesn't know what to do about it, especially when it keeps happening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lovesick Ramblings and a Surprise Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after season one, and I suppose you could call it a season two AU if you want. It will be five chapters long and quite fluffy, a contrast to the stuff I've written and posted here in the past. Feel free to check that [series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/245311) out, too, because I'm pretty proud of it and have a third part planned for it in a few months. I also have another new series I'll be starting after this standalone is finished, so if you like this, subscribe to me so you know what it starts. ;)
> 
> I'm acting as my own beta, so any mistakes are my own.

_\- Monday, March 14th, 2011 -_

When the final bell of the day rings, Stiles sighs in relief, his body sagging in his chair to such a degree that he almost slides right off onto the floor. Last period always drags by painfully, the minute hand of the clock that hangs on the wall ticking by slowly as if to taunt him personally. (Every clock in school is the same, identical ones in every classroom, hung up on hooks above the blackboards. Their uniformity is somehow both annoying and calming to him.) After he's listened carefully to the homework assignments his teacher spouts off, he packs up all of his things and slings his backpack over his shoulder before exiting the room, carried along by the flow of other students doing the same thing. They all chatter loudly around him, discussing and confirming plans. After making a quick stop by his locker to drop off the books he won't need that night, he slams it shut and strides with purpose toward the double doors at the end of the hall which promise freedom. He's desperate to cast off the shackles of school and go about the rest of his day like he doesn't have a care in the world, but unfortunately his life is never quite that easy.

"Stiles!" he hears Scott call from a short distance away.

Fighting the urge to bang his head against the nearest hard surface, Stiles turns reluctantly and waits for his best friend to catch up to him, dreading the next words that will come out of the beta's mouth. He knows that they won't be about anything good, at least not in his eyes.

Of course, because his instincts are flawless, Scott instantly starts spouting off questions: Where is he going? Has he seen Allison? Is he going to lacrosse practice? Does he want to walk there together? Stiles almost gives in to his desire to brain himself before taking a deep breath and forcing a smile onto his lips. He hopes it looks at least half real. In all honesty, lately he's grown tired of hanging out with Scott.

Don't get him wrong—he still loves the other boy like a brother. It's just that Scott always manages to steer their conversations to the topic of Allison, no matter where they started off. He's bored of hearing Scott wax poetic about Allison's hair, Allison's smile, Allison's _everything_. The girl herself is OK, mainly because he hardly speaks to her, but being around Scott as he drones on and on and _on_... It makes him want to either kill himself or kill Scott, and neither of those options look particularly desirable in the long run. So he refrains.

"Dude, are you listening?" Scott asks, frustrated. He doesn't wait for an answer and just drags Stiles along with him to the locker rooms, where he continues rambling about Allison.

When Mr. Argent threatened Scott to leave his precious daughter alone, Stiles naively thought that would be the end of it. But of course, because it's 'true love', Scott just couldn't stay away from the trainee hunter (which isn't surprising, in hindsight). They meet each other in secret whenever they can get away from their parents, sneaking off in her car or on his bike to the preserve or the movies or wherever else they can be alone. Just... _away_. Stiles tunes out his friend as he changes out of his street clothes and into his lacrosse uniform, gearing himself up for another hour or two of either sitting on the bench or being pushed around on the field by his teammates and used as a punching bag while Coach Finstock yells insults at him. Honestly, lacrosse is another thing he's getting tired of. The only reason he joined the team in the first place was because Scott said they should try out together. His dad happened to be in the room at the time, and the way the man's eyes had lit up with hope and a little pride made him cave in. If he and Scott had been alone he probably could've said no, but he hates disappointing his dad.

There's not much now that puts that spark in the sheriff's eyes, so Stiles puts up with the taunting of his teammates and the bruises and the pulled muscles. He feels an overwhelming need to keep his dad happy, for their relationship to improve, especially after all the werewolf-y trouble he's gotten into recently.

As soon as he slips on his jersey, a loud whistle brings all talk in the room to an end.

"Alright you lazy bags of bones!" Coach Finstock yells as he exits his office, spitting out the whistle he has around his neck. It bounces against his navy blue polo shirt (Stiles thinks it's really too thin to be decent) and he carries his usual clipboard in one hand, no doubt ready to note down every little mistake any person on the team makes. "Let's see if we can have a successful and productive practice this time, shall we?!"

* * *

Practice lasts for two gruelling hours.

At the end of it, Stiles picks his body up off the field and drags himself back inside the locker room. Just like he suspected would happen, he spent the whole session being used in various demonstrations with his teammates, and Jackson in particular seemed to get immense enjoyment out of knocking him to the ground as roughly as he could. If Stiles thought there would be a single shred of improvement in their relationship after they worked together to bring down Peter Hale, then he has _definitely_ been proven wrong.

The hot water from the showers feels like a godsend as it sluices down over his battered body and soothes his aching muscles, and he's so caught up in that relief that he doesn't feel any of the insecurities which usually plague him whenever he's in there with some of the other guys.

He doesn't worry that he's thinner than everyone else on the team, nor about how pale he is or the amount of moles that are scattered across nearly every inch of his skin. The good thing about his buzzed hair is that he doesn't have to wash it often, but even so he realises when he's done that he's taken much longer than he normally does. Everyone else has already cleared off home, and frankly he's ready to follow suit.

His bed calls to him.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, Stiles quickly heads over to his locker and pulls out his street clothes again before changing into them and slamming the metal door shut with a loud clang that echoes around the room. Making sure to grab his backpack, he leaves and starts navigating through all of the hallways between him and the parking lot and his precious Jeep. When he nears the last set of double doors he bumps into Lydia as she walks in the opposite direction, and when she marches right on past him without acknowledging him and he looks back over his shoulder, he sees her and Jackson meet at the opposite end of the hall. Jackson smirks at him as he throws an arm around Lydia's shoulders, and Stiles scoffs and continues on his way out, not rising to the bait that the other boy is dangling in front of him.

He's a little miffed but not surprised that Scott didn't wait for him. The beta is rarely around to hang out with any more since he's always off trailing after Allison like a lovesick puppy, and Stiles would find it adorable if it didn't leave him without anyone to talk to.

(It's not like the conversation he'd get would be any good, but still; it's the principle of the thing.)

Things have been a little weird between him and Scott ever since the night Peter was finally killed by Derek. Not tense, exactly, but weird nevertheless. He thinks Scott still harbours a lot of ill feelings toward the new alpha, and the fact that he himself doesn't seems to get on Scott's nerves. The whole killing-the-one-who-turned-you cure never sounded plausible to him anyway, so he doesn't hold it against Derek that he ripped out his uncle's throat before Scott could get a look in. He sympathises with Scott's frustrations as much as he can, the way he was turned against his will and all that, but none of that was Derek's fault. Even though the man comes off cold and distant and like he couldn't give less of a shit about them, Stiles has always been able to see past all of that, to the man who isn't that much older than them. He knows that Derek has just been protecting himself from getting hurt again like he was the last time he was in town, years ago, and his grief about losing his sister (to their uncle, of all people) probably didn't help matters.

Because of this, he's willing to cut Derek some slack.

They haven't really seen much of each other since that night. In fact, Stiles has only seen Derek twice in the past three weeks, brief glimpses of stubble and leather from across the street whenever they both happened to be in town at the same time. Derek nodded jerkily at him both times before striding away in the opposite direction, probably wanting to avoid another of his meaningless ramblings. He can understand that. His dad probably wishes he could do the same sometimes. Still, he can't help but feel a little bit disappointed.

As far as he knows, Derek is still squatting in his old burned-down house. How the man showers, he doesn't have the foggiest, but he never lets himself think about that anyway because, if he did, his mind would be swarmed with unwanted images of tanned skin and muscle. (That's a lie. The images are totally wanted and feature quite heavily in his late-night fantasies, not that he would ever dare to tell anyone.)

What Derek has been up to in that time is also a mystery. Stiles honestly thought that, once all of it was over and his sister's murder was solved, the man would up and leave to return to New York.

But no, Derek is still around, lurking in that strangely sexy way that only he can manage. Stiles wants to be around Derek more than he would care to admit, wants to know everything about the man. He has even snuck into the sheriff's station when his dad wasn't there to try and get a look at Derek's arrest record.

He was caught before he could read even one word, though, and the trouble he got into afterward was enough to deter him from trying again. (He was grounded for a week, and he refused to give Scott the real reason why when the beta kept bugging him about it.) There's still so much about Derek that intrigues him, so much that he wants to find out, that giving up altogether is out of the question. Because his dad has been watching him like a hawk since the sneaking-in incident, and actually going up to Derek and asking outright seems like a good way to get himself killed, he's been forced to be more sneaky in his approach.

To be honest, this new obsession he has with Derek is a little frightening.

The first time he noticed that _something_ was happening was when they were in Dr. Deaton's veterinary clinic, after Kate shot Derek with a wolfsbane-laced bullet and Derek was trying to get him to cut his arm off. Things progressed from there, and seeing Derek standing strong and proud after killing Peter, his red eyes glowing in the night as he proclaimed, "I'm the alpha now," in a husky voice, was the last straw.

When his affections were focused solely on Lydia, who never gave him the time of day, he was all fine and dandy, used to it, complacent. Those affections have steadily grown into more and more of an act as of late, though, something he just keeps going because it's what is expected of him now. As his feelings for Lydia fade away, his feelings for Derek get more intense, though unaddressed. He doesn't want to touch them or give them a name, because if he does he'll have to deal with them properly and he's not ready for that just yet. Don't get him wrong—he doesn't have a case of internalised homophobia or anything like that. It's just that he wouldn't know what to tell Scott or his dad. _Hey, dad, just wanted to let you know that I have feelings for someone years older than me who Scott and I got arrested that one time. Oh, and he's also a dude. See ya later!_ Yeah, that's definitely not happening. It's too complicated. So instead, he contents himself as much as possible by gleaning any little tidbit of information he can get about Derek's past and his life now, with little success.

The furthest he's gotten was when he saw Derek hanging around school one day the previous week. The man was talking with a busty blonde girl he didn't recognise at first, but after staring at her rather obviously for a few seconds, he realised he knew her from a couple of his classes. She looked drastically different, hair falling in perfect waves, makeup caked on her face, and more skin on display than was probably appropriate for school.

Her name still eluded him, though.

Derek had actually looked reasonably friendly for once, a fact that didn't make him jealous. (It did.) He's been planning on getting the girl alone and asking her how she knows Derek, but, pathetically, he hasn't gotten up the courage to do so just yet. Her red-lipped smile is too intimidating, wolf-like.

She must be another werewolf. Stiles doesn't think Scott has noticed the change because the other boy is too busy sneaking off with Allison to do things he shudders to think about.

When he gets home and walks through to the kitchen, Stiles sighs in relief when he finds a note from his dad, stuck to the fridge with a magnet, which tells him that he won't be home until late that night. This means he has hours of free time that'll most likely be spent all on his own. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and a couple of slices of last night's leftover pizza (he's shocked his dad didn't sneak them before leaving for work that morning) and walks upstairs to his room. What he finds there makes him choke, and the second slice falls to the floor when he drops it accidentally. He spares a brief thought about wasting good food before refocusing.

 _Derek is here._ Derek _is here, and he's lying on_ my _bed._

He doesn't know how to process this unexpected turn of events. The man appears to be sleeping, on his side facing the door, and Stiles considers it a miracle that his spluttering and coughing didn't wake him. He stands there in the doorway for almost a full minute, his mind racing as he tries to figure out what he should do.

Should he wake Derek up, intentionally this time, and risk facing his wrath, or should he leave the alpha where he is and try to go about his business as if nothing unusual is happening? After what seems like endless vacillating, he goes with the second option. (He tells himself that it's not so he can stare at Derek's stupidly pretty face without having to deal with any repercussions.) Cautiously, he steps fully into the room and pushes the door to before placing his backpack on his desk, right next to his strangely open laptop. He must have forgotten to close it that morning. _So far, so good,_ he thinks when Derek still doesn't stir. He picks up the slice of pizza from the floor and examines it closely, and after pulling off a stray hair that looks like it doesn't belong to either him or his dad, he shrugs and takes a bite. It's already bad for him, so a little bit of dirt won't do any more damage, especially not since he keeps his floor reasonably clean anyway. (His dad makes him.) He feels a little bit more confident in moving around now he knows that Derek is apparently not a light sleeper.

Sitting down at his desk, he presses the power button on his laptop and waits for the screen to light up before typing in his password and clicking through to his desktop.

He has two important papers due at the end of the week and he's barely started either of them, so he prepares himself for a few hours of hard work if his ADHD will allow it. The only sounds in the room for a long time are the clicking of the keys as he types and the whining of bed springs as Derek changes sleeping positions every now and then. Stiles can't resist staring back over his shoulder at the man, smiling fondly.

When Derek ends up on his back and his shirt rides up to reveal a narrow strip of his impeccably toned stomach, complete with dark treasure trail ( _and what a treasure that would be..._ ), Stiles feels his cheeks heat up and turns determinedly back to his papers. Somehow, he stops himself from turning around again. He doesn't want the room to be full of the scent of his arousal whenever Derek finally wakes up. That would just be asking for trouble. Unfortunately, that tantalising sight has wiped his mind of everything else and he finds himself going blank, his fingers hovering above the keys as he scrambles for words that refuse to come.

Sighing, he gives up and retrieves his headphones from his bag.

His assignments can wait another day, he hopes. He loads up Netflix and scrolls aimlessly through all of the selections they have, looking for something to watch that he hasn't checked out already. That leaves him with very little choice, so in the end he just picks something at random and gets comfortable.

* * *

Stiles must lose track of time because before he knows what's happening, the sky is dark and he hears the front door bang open downstairs, telling him that his dad is finally home. He quickly rips off his headphones and panics because he still has a slumbering alpha werewolf on his bed, and he does _not_ want his dad to find out about that. He pauses briefly after he stands, getting lost again in the sight of Derek's face relaxed in sleep. It makes the man look younger, softer, more...cuddly. _No, Stiles! No!_ he thinks angrily, barely resisting the urge to slap himself across the face to get rid of the thought of climbing onto the bed next to Derek and snuggling up close to him. His throat would probably be gone in an instant. Quickly, before his dad can come upstairs and check on him, he opens his bedroom door and races down to the ground floor and toward the kitchen, where he finds his dad standing in front of the fridge. The man is no doubt looking for something to eat after a long shift. Stiles pauses before speaking, suppressing his nerves so that he can act as casually as possible.

"Hey, dad, what's up? How was work?" he chirps, finally entering the room with a fake bounce in his step.

John withdraws his head from inside the fridge and turns toward his son with raised eyebrows. "You seem like you're in a good mood," he comments offhandedly. He keeps his eyes on Stiles and reaches blindly into the fridge to pull out the plate of leftover bacon that served as part of that morning's breakfast. The clingfilm gets balled up and tossed onto the countertop. "Any particular reason?"

"No, no reason at all. None, nada, zilch," Stiles blabbers.

"Uh-huh," the sheriff responds, not believing the boy at all. He doesn't have the energy to try and get to the bottom of whatever is causing Stiles' weirdness, though. "I haven't seen Scott round here in a while."

Stepping forward, Stiles yanks the plate of cold bacon from his dad's hands before the man can take a second strip. "Bad!" he reprimands as he stalks over to the dustbin. He's about to toss it in so that his dad won't be able to eat any more of it when a thought hits him: Derek might appreciate a little snack whenever he wakes up, and it might serve as another step in his flimsily thought-out plan to ingratiate himself to the alpha. Nodding to himself, he tries to move away from the bin and over to the island without looking too suspicious. (The way his dad continues to stare at him makes it clear that he's failing abysmally.) "There's some salad leftover in the fridge, too, if you're really that hungry."

Grumbling under his breath, John does as his son suggests and starts munching away at some lettuce. He grimaces because it's so tasteless (Stiles won't even let him have any salad dressing). "You still haven't answered my question about Scott," he prods when the shifty-looking boy doesn't speak again.

"Umm, there's no real reason," Stiles replies. "Y'know, he's busy with Allison and stuff."

"That's a shame," the sheriff sympathises.

"Yeah, well, what can ya do?" Stiles says with facetious cheer. He tries to steer the conversation away from his stagnant friendship with Scott. "How was work today? You catch any murderers?"

Shaking his head in exasperation, the sheriff takes one last bite of salad before covering the bowl again with clingfilm and returning it to the fridge for another time. "No, Stiles, I didn't catch any murderers," he says patiently, the corner of his mouth twitching when he turns back to face the room and sees that the boy is steadily inching closer to the door like he's not being blatantly obvious. He decides not to comment on it and just boils it down to his son's usual ADHD-inspired quirkiness.

"Since the whole Kate-Argent slash Hale-Fire thing, things have thankfully quietened down around here, so there's not been any major crime to speak of, really," he explains further as he tiredly gets a bottle of beer in preparation for planting himself firmly on the sofa and settling in for a couple of hours of watching mindless television to switch his brain off. He pops the cap off before taking a sip.

"That's good," Stiles blurts, holding the plate of bacon behind his back.

Nodding, John beats Stiles on his way out into the hall, patting him on the shoulder a couple of times as he walks past. "Good talk, son," he chuckles, downing another swig of beer before taking up his place on the sofa and reaching for the television remote. It lays precariously on the edge of the coffee table.

Thankful that the somewhat stilted conversation has come to an end, Stiles makes his own exit and retreats back upstairs to the relative safety of his bedroom. He stands outside of the pushed-to door for a few seconds to bolster himself up in case Derek is already awake when he enters (the plate of bacon shakes in his hand from nerves). Swallowing tightly one last time, he gently shoulders open the door and walks inside, a disappointed frown appearing on his face when he sees that his room is empty, without a single muscle-bound alpha werewolf in sight. The window is open now, which tells him how Derek let himself out.

He sets the bacon down on his desk and thinks, _Well, isn't that annoying?_ as he nibbles on a strip.

After kicking the door shut, he trudges over to his bed and flops down atop it.

A familiar smell catches his attention. _Is that...?_

Sure enough, when he turns his head to the side and buries his nose in his pillow, his nostrils are filled with the heady scent of Derek, masculine and like grass and pine, with a little tang of dry sweat mixed in for good measure. _Fuck... I guess I know what I'm doing tonight._


	2. A Shopping Trip and a Half-Naked Alpha

_\- Tuesday, March 15th, 2011 -_

Stiles wakes up the following morning feeling only slightly ashamed. Last night, after he was sure his dad had fallen asleep, the sound of the man's snoring just barely audible through the walls, he'd flopped back down on his own bed without so much as a shirt and with a half-used tube of lubricant and run with the idea he'd had earlier that evening. The musk of Derek's scent (and the odd finger or two that he pretended were Derek's as they sneaked further back behind his balls to brush over his hole) worked wonders to give him the best orgasm of his little adolescent life, and as he tumbles on to the floor now after silencing his alarm, he finds the evidence of it dried on his stomach. It's stuck in the hairs below his navel, crusty and gross, and desperate to feel clean again he scurries across the hall and slams the bathroom door shut before his dad can see him in such a state. The one incredibly awkward sex talk they had years ago was more than enough to last him for the rest of his life. After turning on the shower and letting the water heat up to the right temperature, he steps beneath the spray and tilts his head back with his eyes closed. It does wonders to help him wake up properly.

Ten minutes later he's stepping back out on to the tiled floor and drying himself off, dreading another day of school that will no doubt consist mainly of Scott talking his ear off about Allison, whenever said girl isn't around. Back in his bedroom, he dresses quickly, his usual flannel overshirt completing the ensemble.

When he gets downstairs he panics a little when he sees the time.

There are only a couple of minutes to spare if he wants to get to school on time, so he rushes into the kitchen and sticks two pieces of toast in the toaster for a quick breakfast. He spends the waiting time getting out some butter to spread on them and jumps when they pop up unexpectedly, both a little blackened on one side but beggars can't be choosers, he supposes. After shoving the butter roughly back in its home he holds both slices in his mouth while he searches for his bag, hoping it has everything he'll need that day already within.

It takes a few seconds to remember that he didn't bring it downstairs with him, and when he finally has it in hand he rushes for the front door. (He already knows he's going to be late anyway.)

He passes by his dad on the way.

"Have a good day at school, son!" the man shouts after him, and he waves back.

The drive to school takes him less time than he anticipated, and he's power walking down the hall to his first class and entering the classroom just as the bell rings. He resists the urge to fist-pump the air because his teacher is already there and he's the last student to arrive, and she glares at him until he takes his usual seat. As soon as she begins teaching he finds himself thinking about other things, her words fading into white noise.

His mind wanders, thinking back over the previous afternoon and evening. No matter how many different ways from which he comes at it, Derek's sudden appearance in his bedroom doesn't make any sense to him at all. If they'd maintained friendly contact after his alpha upgrade like he'd naively hoped they would then it wouldn't be that hard to understand, but that has obviously not been the case. He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't notice anyone is trying to get his attention until he feels a tap on his arm. Looking to his left, at the next desk over he sees Scott, and he can't believe he didn't notice that the beta was there before.

"What's up?" he whispers confusedly.

"Why do you smell like Derek?" Scott enquires, sniffing loudly.

Immediately, Stiles feels his face heat up even though he has nothing to be embarrassed about. "No reason," he dismisses, turning pointedly back toward the front of the room.

"I'm serious, dude. You reek of him..." Scott presses on, his nose wrinkled up in disgust.

Stiles doesn't want to answer his friend's question just yet, not that he'd know how even if he did. For some reason he wants to keep it a secret, like it's something shared between just Derek and himself, and the thought sends a thrill down his spine that he ignores. Scott also wouldn't react well to finding out about his unexpected visitor because of his hatred for the man, so he tries again to brush the question off. "Just drop it, Scott," he commands, injecting anger into his tone to cover up his discomfort and where his brain has gone.

* * *

Scott still hasn't dropped the subject of the new addition to Stiles' scent by the time lunch has rolled around, and the human teen is getting desperate. Previously, he thought that Scott's new annoying streak was reserved solely for discussions about Allison, but he's saddened to find now that it is spreading into other areas. He knows what he has to do to prevent Scott from pestering him about Derek any longer, as much as it pains him.

In a last ditch effort to save himself (and Scott's face) he tries to change the subject one final time as they're both taking their seats around one of the tables in the cafeteria. "So, what did you and Allison get up to last night?" he asks before Scott can resume his interrogation.

As Stiles hoped he would, the beta immediately seems to forget about Derek.

"Well, after school..." Scott starts.

The rest of the lunch period is spent like that, with Stiles pretending that he's interested in hearing about Scott and Allison's colourful and not-at-all exaggerated exploits. From the way Scott recounts his version of yesterday evening, Stiles would think that every single thing about their relationship is life or death when in fact it's just a simple matter of hiding it from her parents. (He has to give the other boy points for creativity, though.) Even though he's still not really happy, it's better than having to come up with an explanation for Derek's scent on his person, and while Scott's ramblings about his and Allison's 'epic love' are tiresome, it's nice to know that he can simply mention the brunette's name once and easily derail the conversation if it ever veers off some place he doesn't want it to. Even so, by the end of lunch he's had enough and he's glad that he doesn't share his next class with Scott. After they dump theirs trays and part ways in the hall, he adjusts his backpack a little higher up on his shoulder and sets off for the classroom in which he'll waste away the next hour of his life, unaware of the pair of eyes that watch him intently from a short distance away.

* * *

 _Thank God this bore-fest of a day is over..._ Stiles thinks as he exits his last class with his peers. He doesn't have lacrosse practise to attend, mercifully, so he sets straight off for his car, planning on making another attempt at finishing the two assignments Derek sidetracked him from the previous evening. Of course, because The Powers That Be hate his guts, he doesn't even make it ten steps before something stops him.

He looks up and his eyes widen in shock when he sees just who it is: the leggy blonde with whom Derek was conversing about a week ago. She smirks at him, a little menacingly, like she knows something he doesn't, and he gets the distinct feeling that their bumping into each other is anything but an accident.

"Hey, Stiles," she says, twirling a long piece of blonde hair around her index finger.

"Uhh, hi?" he replies, dumbfounded.

Her smile widens, a grin now, and he goes along with it when she links their arms and leads him back around behind the main school building. "You're not gonna kill me, are you?" He laughs nervously.

The girl laughs, too, but hers sounds more natural and easy, like she actually finds him funny. "Hardly," she responds after her laughter tapers off, pulling them to a stop beside one of the school's large dumpsters, which is nearly overflowing with rubbish. She leans away from it a little and looks as if she's reconsidering her choice of location before shrugging and deciding to just ignore the stench. "I just thought it was time I introduced myself and we had a little talk is all. You don't mind that, do you?" She twirls her hair again as she bats her eyelashes, which are thick with mascara, and pushes out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout.

"N-no?" Stiles stutters, still feeling completely thrown for a loop and unable to process the current situation. When he gets his bearings again (for the most part) he realises that this could be the perfect opportunity to ask her just how she knows Derek. He won't let it pass him by. "What do you want to talk about?"

The blonde's pout turns into a wide grin again and her body language changes from meek and pleading to strong and confident, her barely-covered chest thrust out. She eyes Stiles closely before answering. "I'm guessing you don't remember my name," she starts, sticking out her hand for the boy to shake. She carries on when he slowly does just that, like he's scared she'll maul him at the drop of a hat or something.

The rush of having someone be scared of her for once is nice. "My name's Erica."

"Stiles," said boy says needlessly.

He cringes internally.

"I've known about you for quite a while now and I think you have a lot of questions for me," Erica guesses, her smile disappearing again as she takes on a more serious expression. "Let's get this out of the way first: I know about everything werewolf-y, and yes, I know Derek, too. I saw you across the parking lot last week, you know, when you were eying the two of us after school let out. You're so cute when you're confused." The corner of her mouth twitches when Stiles gapes at her. "Derek is the one who turned me, a couple of weeks ago. You see, I used to be epileptic and he found me in the middle of a seizure when no one else was around, got me through it, and took me to the hospital afterward. I think he could sense something in me because after I was checked out and released he took me aside and told me everything. He explained what he was and how he could help me, if I wanted to accept. Obviously I did, and now here we are." She flashes her eyes beta gold and giggles when Stiles' heartbeat immediately picks up, the sound assaulting her eardrums. She stops, though, when the sour tang of genuine fear laces through the boy's scent.

"Calm down, dude, I'm not going to hurt you or anything," she hastens to assure, her eyes returning to their natural hue with her worry. "I seriously just wanted to introduce myself properly."

Nodding, Stiles takes a deep breath and tries to slow his heart. He's had a lot of practise at that. "I believe you," he says eventually, lowering his hand from where he'd pressed it over the middle of his chest. "What I don't get, though, is why? I mean, I don't think we've ever spoken before, so...why now?"

"You'll find out soon enough, I'm sure," Erica replies devilishly, smirk back in full force. Concluding that her mission for the day is finished, she pats Stiles a couple of times on his shoulder before turning on her heel and walking away. She glances back to the boy when she reaches the corner of the building. "This was nice. I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of each other soon. Until then, Stiles."

Stiles is left standing there, confused.

"What...?" he asks the empty space Erica leaves behind.

* * *

_\- Friday, March 18th, 2011 -_

Stiles' life continues as normal for the rest of the school week (or at least as normal as it can be nowadays). There aren't any more unexpected visits from Derek, nor are there any confusing conversations with his newly bitten beta. The former is disappointing to him, not just because the man's scent is basically all but gone from his sheets (he's spent more time than usual lying on them instead of sitting at his desk), but also because he hasn't seen him anywhere else either. Not a single trace of worn leather or dark stubble.

He hadn't realised it until he felt disappointment, but Stiles had been hoping, deep down in his subconscious mind, that his finding the alpha napping on his bed would lead to them seeing more of each other. That fact that it hasn't makes a small cloud of sadness follow him everywhere he goes, like an unwanted friend.

His dad has noticed.

Stiles has never been very good at hiding his emotions until it really counts. (He thinks it has something to do with his ADHD.) Luckily for him, though, the sheriff hasn't asked about it or done anything else to really address it apart from leaving a note on the fridge one morning. The man must have left the house for another shift down at the station before his son even got out of bed, and the six words Stiles found made his new, seemingly ever-present cloud a little easier to bear— _'I'm here if you need me._ ' Even though his dad works most of the time and they don't see much of each other, a situation he doesn't particularly like but understands, it was nice to receive the reaffirmation that he's still loved. He'd given his dad a short, wordless hug that evening.

So, while Derek has been a non-entity in his life over the past week, Stiles _has_ started to see more of Erica. Everywhere he goes, she's there, too, never too far away, smiling in his direction and waving.

There's not a journey between classrooms that doesn't involve the clicking of heels and the bouncing of blonde curls. He can't walk through the town without glimpsing her out of the corner of his eye, and he doesn't know what to make of it. It should feel like stalking but it oddly doesn't. He doesn't get the impression that Erica's suddenly ubiquitous presence is the result of anything that sinister.

Today finds him at the local supermarket, stocking up on supplies for the rapidly emptying cupboards at home. He drove there as soon as school let out, and he leans on the handle of his rickety cart as he looks down at his phone, at the shopping list he made the previous evening with his dad's assistance.

It's a little daunting in its length.

He knows it'll put a dent in their budget for the rest of the month, but they'll manage. They always do. His dad doesn't usually have the time to do the shopping so that responsibility falls on him, which he doesn't mind that much. The frequent trips get him out of the house more, which is something that hasn't happened that often lately, and it helps to relieve some of the restlessness that grips him from time to time. He thinks it's because there's nothing going on, not in his personal life nor on the supernatural front.

"Let's see..." he mumbles, scrolling down the list.

The first thing is apples, so he steers the cart toward the fruit and veg. Just as he's reaching for one of the cheap plastic bags to put the apples in, he feels a tap on his shoulder which makes him jump.

He turns and is unsurprised to find Erica smiling at him.

She's not alone this time, though.

"Hi, Stiles!" she greets cheerily, elbowing her companion in the ribs to get him to copy her.

Stiles recognises him just like he did her. A tall, skinny boy, Stiles thinks he's in the same grade as himself and Erica, and he remembers seeing his unruly mop of light brown curls above the heads of the other students in the school halls from time to time. "Hi," he replies after a few seconds, tearing his eyes away from the other boy. Because Erica and Curly-Hair are standing side by side, he's able to pick out all the similarities between them, both on the surface and underneath. They both wear matching leather jackets, which look brand-spanking new, and to any other person that might be where the similarities end, but to him it's not.

Experience (and necessity; he'd probably be dead otherwise) has made him good at looking further, for longer, and he can easily tell that the slightly predatory feel Erica has is mirrored in her friend. Curly-Hair must be a beta, too, and it doesn't take much to put two and two together and come to a conclusion.

Like Erica, Curly-Hair must be part of Derek's growing pack.

"Fancy seeing you here," Erica pipes up eventually, when the silence continues.

"Yeah, what a coincidence..." Stiles agrees a little sarcastically. He regrets it when her face falls.

He doesn't know why but there's some need he has to keep Erica happy with him. Perhaps it's because she's Derek's beta and if she likes him, then her alpha is more likely to follow suit.

Curly-Hair yawns, bored.

Stiles goes back to picking apples. He turns each one over to look for any imperfections and selects only the best of the bunch, quickly filling his bag and tying it into a neat knot before placing it at the front of his cart. "Is there any particular reason you've been showing up everywhere I look this past week?" he asks, setting off to get the next item on his list. He knows that Erica and Curly-Hair are following him and, sure enough, after a few seconds she falls in step beside him, and a third set of footsteps can he heard, consistently a few paces behind them. He shakes his head when his question goes unanswered and decides he's not going to ask any more as they make their way around the entire supermarket, picking things up as they go. By the end of the trip Stiles is actually growing used to having the two by his side, even if one of them is a total stranger and the other is barely an acquaintance. He can almost pretend that the three of them are friends. As they go through the checkout and everything is bagged up and put back inside the cart, he leads the way out of the store, intent on putting it all in the back of his Jeep before setting off for home.

When they pass by the bay in which the carts are stored, Stiles is surprised when Erica stops him. "There's no point in taking that all the way to your car; you're just gonna have to come right back again. Here." She shoves him aside and picks up just under half of the plastic bags, and a glare at her friend gets him to do the same. Stiles is left carrying just two bags, one in each hand.

He's grateful for the help.

Once everything is loaded into his Jeep, he turns to the two betas and stands there awkwardly as he tires to come up with the most appropriate way to say goodbye to them. Curly-Hair still looks like he'd rather be anywhere else, and Erica saves him from having to bring their time together to an end himself.

"Well, this was fun. We should do it again sometime," she says, hugging him suddenly.

Stiles pats her back uncomfortably.

As she begins walking away, her friend in tow, she calls back over her shoulder. "His name's Isaac, by the way, not Curly-Hair." She throws her head back and cackles.

Frowning, Stiles is confused for all of two seconds before he realises that he must have spoken aloud without knowing it the nickname he'd given her companion. That's probably why the other boy's mood only seemed to get worse as their time together wore on, and he feels like an absolute idiot for letting his mouth get the best of him again. His face flushes and he hastens to get in his Jeep and drive away, retreating back to his house where he's safe from any more embarrassment (for the most part).

* * *

When Stiles gets home he finds something waiting for him, which makes his strange day even stranger. He's greeted by an empty house, something he's accustomed to, and after putting the shopping away he ascends the stairs to prepare for two days of pure relaxation. Scott doesn't factor into it for obvious reasons (namely Allison) but he thinks as he reaches the landing that perhaps Erica and Isaac will.

As he throws open his bedroom door, however, all thoughts of the weekend are wiped from his mind.

Derek is there again.

The man is spread out on Stiles' bed without a care in the world, like it's his own. Derek is asleep, of course, and Stiles notices that this time the alpha is beneath the covers instead of lying atop them. He wonders again what on Earth is happening when Derek moves, turning on to his front and snuffling into the pillows.

 _Fuck, that's totally adorable,_ Stiles thinks, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind himself with a quiet click. Like before, Derek doesn't seem to stir at all at the sound, and Stiles ponders the implications of finding the alpha in this position for a second time in less than a week. Could there be some connection to Derek's sudden liking for taking naps in his bed and Erica's insistence that she become his new best friend? The thought seems ridiculous at first, but with what his life has become in recent months Stiles can't actually rule it out. Shrugging, he decides to let things unfold on their own and walks over to his desk to sit down. Something stops him, though. Derek's shirt and jeans are thrown there and, sure enough, when he glances back toward the bed he sees something he didn't before: Derek's bare shoulder peeking out from beneath the covers.

Stiles falls back into his computer chair, suddenly breathless. He pulls Derek's clothes out from under his ass and lays them over his lap, resisting the urge to bring the shirt up to his nose, before trying to get back to the task at hand. Swivelling around in the chair, he brings his computer closer and looks Isaac up on every social media website he could possible frequent.

Success is found almost immediately. He doesn't have to even try to find Isaac's Facebook account because Erica's serves as his bridge. It's right there when he logs in, behind a small red notification.

A new friend request, sent less than an hour ago.

Stiles accepts it.

He clicks onto Erica's profile and finds that, a short way down the page, there's an update about her becoming friends with two more people a few days before. One of them is a dark-skinned boy he doesn't think he knows, not even by name, and the other is one Isaac Lahey. Another click and Stiles is staring right at the curly-haired boy's picture as he grins mischievously at the camera. It seems like Isaac has only just made his account because it's not privatised at all and there is only one visible status update.

Taking the plunge, Stiles breathes deeply and sends off his own request to become Isaac's friend. Call him curious, but he wants to now more about the lanky teen. (And if it gets him even a little bit closer to Derek's inner circle then it's just a happy accident, he swears.)


	3. Unexplained Food and a Well-Kept Secret

_\- Saturday, March 19th, 2011 -_

Stiles wakes up later than he expected.

His alarm is off so he doesn't know what woke him, but the clock on his bedside table tells him that it's just after eleven in the morning, and he groans tiredly as he rolls over onto his back and stares at his ceiling. He hadn't meant to sleep for so long, but he was up pretty late the previous night.

He'd been surprised when, just minutes after he had sent off a friend request to Isaac, it was accepted. Erica must have seen, because a couple of seconds later she pulled both him and the curly-haired beta into a group chat, and Stiles was surprised to find it was pretty easy to talk to both of them. Isaac wasn't nearly as surly after he apologised for his slip-up with the nickname that afternoon, and time passed by at an alarming rate as they got to know each other a little better. Conversation was still a little stilted because they were so new to each other, but Stiles was actually optimistic by the end of it that he might come out of this with two new friends. With Scott's rather intense preoccupation with Allison and anything related to her, it was a nice feeling.

Derek slumbered on during the chat but, unfortunately, after things wound down and he went to relieve his bladder, Stiles came back to find both his computer chair and his bed empty.

As he thinks back to that time, he pulls the sheets up over his face and presses them to his nose, his eyes closing in pleasure when he finds that Derek's scent is still detectable. Because the man slept beneath the covers this time, he hopes it will remain for longer than it had after the first time he came home to find Derek asleep there. Strangely, it's made his own sleep more peaceful, and he feels extremely well-rested now.

A loud knocking sound makes him jump.

"Stiles, come on! Open up!"

He pulls the sheets down again and looks around his room for the source of all the noise, and his eyes widen when they come to settle on the window. Erica is crouched behind the glass, grinning at him. She knocks again, a little less impatiently this time, and Stiles flings the sheets back and stands to let her in.

"Finally!' Erica gasps when the window is pushed open. It wasn't locked after all, like she'd expected. After Stiles steps back to give her room, she climbs through and stretches her legs with a wince before sniffing the air. It's the first time she's been in the human boy's bedroom, but she still knows it contains a smell that shouldn't be there. She doesn't comment on it, though, even after she locates where it comes from, and her eyes linger on the bed and its rumpled sheets instead. "Are you only just getting up? You're so lazy..."

"Shut up..." Stiles mumbles, rubbing at his eyes.

"I'll do no such thing!"

Stiles ignores her teasing smirk and shuffles over to his closet. He feels a little weird in just his underwear and a thin shirt, so he pulls out a pair of jeans (whether they're actually clean or not, he doesn't know) and pulls them up his legs before buttoning and zipping them. "To what do I owe this surprise visit?" he asks after a yawn, falling down into his computer chair and spinning around in it leisurely. He doesn't move too fast because he doesn't want to throw up all over the floor. (He did that once when he was younger and he never wants to repeat the experience.) Erica predictably doesn't answer, and he watches as she walks around his room, checking everything out with obvious curiosity and amusement. His face flushes when, before he can stop her, she pulls open the topmost drawer on his bedside table, and he knows from the salacious grin she levels him with that she didn't miss his lube. He stays silent and avoids her gaze until she moves on. He's a healthy, hot-blooded teenage boy and he has needs, God damn it! And he won't let Erica make him feel embarrassed about fulfilling them in the privacy of his own bedroom.

"What's this?" Erica asks after another few seconds have passed, and Stiles turns back to the girl and frowns when he sees what she holds in her hand. He stands and walks over to take it himself.

It's a greasy paper bag, containing an abundance of curly fries.

Strangely, it's still warm—piping hot, even, like it's only just been cooked. "Where the hell did this come from?" he asks, turning his head and gazing out through the open window. He doesn't usually lock it, so the only explanation he can come up with is that someone came in just before he woke up.

He doesn't know how he didn't smell them immediately, but his mind is always hazy first thing and it can only really focus on one thing at a time. Erica was that thing, so he supposes that's how. When the heat from the bag seeps into the skin of his palm and begins to hurt, he quickly drops it down on his desk and sits, continuing to stare at it confusedly. Tentatively, as if they're poisoned, he reaches out, takes one of the fries and brings it up to his lips, sniffing it before taking a small bite. His eyes close when the divine taste of it bursts across his tongue, and he doesn't even mind that his mouth gets burned a little.

Erica remains quiet through all of this, a knowing smirk on her lips. "How are they?" she asks, reaching forward and taking one herself without actually waiting for Stiles to answer her first. Her eyes widen and she finds herself suddenly feeling ravenous even though she hasn't long had her breakfast, and she grabs a handful of them when the first one disappears quickly down into her stomach.

"Hey, hands off!" Stiles cries, snapping up the bag and clutching it protectively to his chest to prevent any more thievery. "Get your own!" He's not persuaded by Erica's pout to share more.

"Mean..." Erica mumbles.

Stiles rolls his eyes and eats another of the fries.

"So, you doing anything today?" the blonde enquires after a few minutes of silence.

Quickly chewing and swallowing, Stiles shakes his head. "Nope. I'm wide open. Why?" He looks down into the paper bag and sighs when he sees that he's eaten all of the fries now. Smoothing the bag out on his desk, for some reason he feels reluctant to throw it away. There's not even a logo on the front to tell him from which restaurant they came, and because he can't exactly go up to whoever got them for him and ask, that fact is even more disappointing—devastating, even. They were the best curly fries he ever remembers eating.

"No particular reason..." Erica replies mysteriously, adjusting her leather jacket so that it fits better on her frame. "I was just wondering whether you'd be interested in hanging out later, with Isaac, Boyd and I." She says this casually, as if she's trying to act like Stiles' answer doesn't matter to her.

Said boy can see through it with ease. "Yeah, sure. That sounds fun," he accepts, standing and walking over to the window. Half of his mind is still focused on the unexpected gift of food, and he stands there and examines the frame, both inside and out, trying to see if there's any sign at all that'll tell him who used it just before his new friend. "You didn't see anyone before you knocked, right?"

"Hmm? Oh, no," Erica lies, glad that Stiles has his back turned. He doesn't see the smile she's apparently unable to wipe from her face, though she is able to stop herself from giggling at his obliviousness.

 _This is too cute,_ she thinks.

Finding nothing, Stiles pulls his head back inside the room.

"Is two o'clock OK with you?" Erica asks, taking Stiles' place in front of the window to leave.

"Sure," Stiles replies, returning the beta's wave as she climbs out, lands gracefully on the ground and disappears quickly across the grass and out of sight. With nothing else to distract him, he gets ready for the day. A quick stop off in the bathroom leaves him with a relieved bladder and fresh breath, and he descends the stairs to find the rest of the house completely empty. It's not unexpected (his dad will probably be busy down at the station, with paperwork or something) so he thinks about what trouble Erica, Isaac and Boyd could possibly get him into later that afternoon. He hasn't met Boyd yet, so he feels nerves creep up his spine. The dark-skinned boy looked quite intimidating in the pictures he looked through on Facebook the previous evening, during a lull in his conversation with Erica and Isaac, so he hopes he makes a good impression. He's growing to like Erica quite a lot, so he figures anyone else she hangs out with can't be too bad a person either. This thought calms the anxious feeling in his body, allowing him to pour some milk into his bowl without splashing it all over the countertop. His stomach is already half full, so he calls this an early lunch.

* * *

_\- Friday, March 25th, 2011 -_

For the past week, Stiles has been spending most of his free time with Erica, Isaac and Boyd. His worries about the latter beta were unfounded and they got along splendidly. Boyd doesn't speak much, and he himself speaks too much, so it's basically a match made in heaven as far as he's concerned.

Scott hasn't noticed, but that's not surprising. Stiles doesn't begrudge his old best friend his short attention span. He's happy that Scott has someone in his life for whom he seems to care so much, especially now that he has other friends to occupy the time he had previously spent alone. It's a lot more fun. They still speak on occasion, mainly within the school walls, when they're sat side by side at their desks, but unlike with Derek, Scott hasn't yet picked up on the new additions to his scent.

Frankly, Stiles is glad for it.

Even though he has in essence been replaced, he doesn't want the other boy to feel the same.

Today finds him meeting Derek's betas outside the main entrance after the final bell.

"Yo, Stiles!" Isaac calls ahead, causing the human teen to look up sharply, startled from where he'd been staring at his feet. The book he holds against his chest (it's too large to fit inside his already overstuffed bag) falls to the ground with a thud. Isaac is quick to close the distance and sweeps the book up before Stiles can even think about bending his knees. "Here. Sorry about that." The curly-haired boy grins lopsidedly.

"It's fine," Stiles dismisses easily, returning the smile. Erica and Boyd join them a couple of seconds later, and he's unsurprised to see that the blonde is wearing one of the shortest skirts he's ever seen. He doesn't really expect anything less. They set off, marching away from the school building to their cars.

Once he's ensconced within his Jeep with the steering wheel in front of him, Stiles takes a second to gather himself before sticking his keys in the ignition. He pauses, though, when the passenger door opens.

Looking to his right, he watches, confused, as Isaac clambers inside and slams the door shut again before buckling himself in like it's an action he's done a million times before. After a few seconds, when he still hasn't moved to start the Jeep, Isaac turns to stare at him expectantly, and Stiles stares right back. "Uh, what's happening? Don't you usually go with Erica and Boyd?" he asks, finally turning the keys and bringing the engine to life. He sees Erica and Boyd start to drive off in his rearview mirror and hastens to follow them, not wanting to fall behind. Even with his haste he's not fast enough, and Erica's shiny red car disappears from view before he can even leave the school parking lot. Typically, Isaac doesn't answer his question and just gives him directions instead, which he follows, betting that they'll lead to wherever Erica and Boyd are heading.

"What is this place?" Stiles asks when he and Isaac arrive.

"Derek's hideout," Isaac replies, exiting the Jeep and meeting the two other betas at the entrance.

Stiles is much slower.

After finding out that Derek spent months living in his family's old burned-down home, he doesn't know why he's surprised to find that _this_ is the man's new living arrangement. There's not much to see from the outside, but after he follows the three betas down the stairs and they enter the old station, he has to keep his mouth firmly clamped shut so that he doesn't accidentally say anything to offend. He doesn't know whether Derek is there, too, after all, and it probably wouldn't end well if his criticism was overheard.

The place doesn't seem fit for anybody to live in, especially not someone with a sensitive werewolf nose. Even Stiles, with his comparably weak sense of smell, struggles not to cough as his nostrils are assaulted by the smell of old dust and mould. He doesn't understand how Derek can stand it.

"So, Stiles, I bet you're probably wondering why we've brought you here today," Erica says as soon as the boy descends the last step and joins her properly in the commodious room. She leans against one of the rusty train cars. Her legs are crossed casually, as are her arms, just beneath her chest so that it's pushed up and even more obvious than her thin shirt makes it alone. She smirks when Stiles snaps to attention.

Isaac and Boyd also look interested in the conversation, though they don't display that interest as outwardly as Erica does. They remain off to the side, perched on rickety and old metal lawn chairs.

"I suppose you could say that..." Stiles concedes, starting to explore.

"Thought so."

Erica keeps talking as Stiles makes a lap of the large room, inspecting everything he comes across in case it will tell him something new about Derek. He barely registers the blonde's words, but he purposefully keeps a small part of his attention on her so as to not come across as rude. The last thing he looks over is the interior of the car against which Erica still leans, and when he peers through the glassless window and sees what's hidden within, he has to make a measured effort to not react at all. Erica is still talking but he doesn't register a single word that leaves her lips. An old mattress and a set of rumpled sheets are the reward he gets for his efforts: Derek's makeshift bed. It's positioned in the middle of the car, between the rows of old seats, and there's a large duffel bag on the dirty floor, a few feet away. It's unzipped, and Stiles can see what he guesses are all of Derek's clothes as they spill out. There's no leather jacket amongst it all, so Stiles concludes that the man must be elsewhere. None of the clothes look clean, and he wonders whether there would be a way for him to sneak a shirt or something and take it home with him without one of the betas noticing.

It is, of course, not possible (they'd smell it immediately) and the thought that he's venturing further and further into stalker territory prevents him from trying anyway. Derek obviously doesn't have a problem with invading other people's personal spaces, but Stiles doesn't mind in the alpha's case so it's not an issue.

Derek probably wouldn't feel the same if the situation were reversed.

Stiles doesn't want to make the man mad, so he laments for a second the loss of having a more potent version of Derek's scent in his nostrils before moving on and refocusing on Erica.

"You haven't heard a single word I've just said, have you?" she asks.

"No?" he replies, smiling guiltily.

She shakes her head with exasperation. "Never mind..."

"OK..." Stiles says slowly, stepping away from the train car and pulling up a chair by Isaac and Boyd. A rusty lawn table completes the set. "Let me ask you guys something. Have you noticed anything weird going on with Derek lately? I mean, I don't really know the guy," he tries to keep sadness out of his voice but doesn't think he quite manages it, "but even I can that something about him is...off. Several times now I've come home from school and found him sleeping on my bed of all places." He catches the three betas exchanging pointed glances and realises that he's on to something. "You _do_ know, don't you? Come on, spill!"

"Oh, Stiles, you're even more oblivious than I thought... You're both as bad as each other," Erica laments, pressing a hand to her forehead dramatically. From the corner of her eye she sees Isaac open his mouth, probably to reveal the secret they share. She interrupts before he can. "Actually, we're not going to tell you anything. You'll have to figure it out for yourself. That way you'll have earned it."

Isaac snaps his mouth shut again and shares a conspiratorial grin with Erica, approving of her plan. "Yeah," he agrees, laughing when Stiles slams his head down on the table with a clang. "Don't worry, Stiles. If you're really as smart as everyone thinks you are, then this should be easy."

Erica isn't so sure.

Obviously, in terms of academics, Stiles is pretty much unrivalled if he can wrangle his mind under control (only Lydia is ahead of him), but he's still just a boy, blind to things that are obvious to her.

"You guys are the worst. I hate you all..." Stiles groans, finally lifting his head again. The skin of his forehead is dented with red crisscrossed lines, an impression left from the design of the table. The betas were his last hope for an explanation and, now that they're out, he's really on his own. Trying to crack the enigma that is Derek Hale is no easy task—it's daunting, quite frankly, and he'll be lucky if he ever manages to get to the bottom of it. Only Isaac's assurance stops him from giving up.

The next moment all three betas turn their heads in the direction of the stairs. Stiles assumes they're hearing something he can't, so he looks the same way and waits for whatever or whoever it is to appear. The old and scratched-up metal door that serves as the innocuous entrance to the empty station creeks loudly, the sound echoing down to Stiles' ears, and he holds his breath when footsteps follow.

Of course, it's Derek. _Who else would it be?_ he thinks wryly, sitting uncharacteristically still.

Derek pauses halfway down the stairs.

"What are you doing here, Stiles?" the alpha asks when he gets over the shock of finding the human boy in his newfound (and depressing, even by his standards) home. He walks down the rest of the stairs and stands with his arms crossed over his chest, staring intensely at Stiles as he waits for an answer.

"Uhh..." Stiles gulps, his mind racing. "I, uh, don't know. You'll have to ask them," he gestures to the betas, "because they're the ones that brought me here."

Derek's eyes snap to each of his betas in turn. None of them say anything, but Erica does flick her eyes once over to Stiles before returning her gaze his way, smirking. The corners of his eyes tighten and his top lip twitches as he holds back a snarl, his annoyance growing more and more with every passing second until he manages to get a handle on it and tamp it down. "I never should've bitten you three... You're more trouble than you're worth," he mutters, storming right past the group of teenagers and into the empty car that contains his meagre belongings. He doesn't really mean the words and he knows that the young wolves all know it.

As Derek walks past, Stiles gets a closer look at his face and is dismayed with what he finds. The man has dark shadows beneath his eyes and his beard is longer than Stiles has ever seen it, like he hasn't trimmed it in a long time. He wonders whether Derek is suffering from nightmares, or something else that prevents him from getting any peaceful sleep. It would make sense with what Stiles knows of his past.

"Stiles?" Erica says eventually, not bothering to whisper.

"Hmm?" The boy tears his eyes away from the doorway through which Derek had disappeared.

"Isn't there something you wanted to ask Derek?"

His eyes widening, Stiles whips his head back in the direction of the train car when he hears a clanging come from within. He gets the image in his mind's eye of Derek looking up in surprise and banging his head against a metal railing, and it makes him smile temporarily before the man appears back in his line of sight. "Umm, no, there wasn't," he denies, knowing from the way Derek raises an impatient eyebrow at him that his heart has given his lie away. Still, Derek doesn't comment on it, a silence for which Stiles is grateful. He leaps to his feet and picks his bag up off of the floor, not remembering bringing it inside from his car. "I'm gonna get going. I'll see you guys later." He waves goodbye to the three betas before glancing one last time in Derek's direction (gone again, back inside the car) and speedily exiting the station, almost at a run. He's out of breath by the time he reaches his Jeep (the fact that Derek was surprised at his being there tells Stiles that he must not have seen it when he arrived) and as soon as he's behind the wheel he peels out of there with a screech so loud that you wouldn't have to have the heightened senses of a werewolf to pick up on it.

* * *

Finally arriving home, Stiles retreats up to his bedroom and is actually relieved this time that Derek isn't currently sleeping there. He doesn't want to be around the man again just yet.

He replays his and Derek's brief interaction again and again in his head, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing of the sort stands out to him (Derek's dislike for him was as apparent as ever) apart from the way Erica had looked between the two of them. She's clearly never going to tell him just what that was about, so he's left to mull it over until he wants to bash his head against something hard and pointy, like the corner of his desk, just to get himself to stop.

 _I need a distraction,_ he thinks as he drops his backpack to the floor.

Catching up on his outstanding homework seems like the perfect solution, so he unzips the bag and reaches inside, anticipating that his books will be the first thing his hand makes contact with. Therefore he's confused when, instead of their cool solidity, he touches something soft and warm.

Pulling the mystery item out, his mouth gapes when he holds it up in the air and determines what it is: one of Derek's tank tops. How it got inside his bag he doesn't know (he certainly didn't have the guts to snatch it himself) but all thoughts of who did it in his stead are wiped from his mind as he examines it more closely. It's unwashed like he thought, and the grey material is stained dark around the neck, back and underneath the arms. It's still damp. _Fuck._ He quickly checks that no one is watching him through the closed window (he really needs to start using his curtains) before bringing the sweat-stained tank up to his nose and inhaling deeply. He almost passes out from sheer euphoria. It's even better than he imagined, like Derek's natural scent times a thousand.

 _It's official. I'm now Derek Hale's very own stalker,_ he thinks.

He doesn't give a damn.


	4. Four Naps and a Big Misunderstanding

A thought strikes Stiles after a while, after he's spent who knows how long with his nose buried in Derek's tank top: one of the betas must have been responsible for it getting into his backpack, and that means that whoever did it is most likely aware of his growing affections for the man. He lifts his head and looks at the window again, expecting to find one of their faces grinning back at him. Luckily, there's no one there, but the theory has still brought any arousal building in his system to a screeching halt. Just because he can't see them doesn't mean they're not there, so he scrunches Derek's tank top into a ball and shoves it beneath his pillow for safekeeping. The curtains are subsequently closed, and he breathes a sigh of relief as the feeling of being watched slowly dissipates until it's gone completely. He has half a mind to call the betas up and confront them about the stowaway in his backpack, but he knows they would all just lie to him about it. It would be a waste of time.

The light shining through his curtains is dimming, and a quick glance at the clock on his nightstand reveals it is just after six o'clock in the evening. He must have spent more time than he realised getting his fill of Derek's tank top. Now that his head is clear again he feels a little seed of guilt take root in his gut, making it turn a little as it grows. A series of questions runs through his mind:

What was he thinking?

What would Derek do if he ever found out?

Would he be angry? Uncomfortable? _Disgusted?_

Each one makes him feel worse, and it's the last that really seals the deal. He throws his pillows to the floor, snatches Derek's tank top up again and tosses it into the back of his closet. His heart couldn't take it if Derek were to ever find out and feel any one of those things about him, so he knows it'll stay there indefinitely.

* * *

_\- Monday, March 28th, 2011 -_

Somehow, Stiles managed to get through the entire weekend without thinking about Derek or the tank top still in his closet. The betas were all successfully dodged, too, and he even went so far as to switch off his phone when it wouldn't stop ringing on Sunday. He felt a little bad about it (it's not their fault he let his feelings and borderline obsession with Derek get so out of hand) but he just tells himself that it's for the best. He still doesn't know the motivation behind them slipping their alpha's tank into his bag, whether they were trying to help him in some way or rile him up until he couldn't keep it a secret any longer.

People can say whatever they want about his old affections for Lydia, that he was stupid, lovesick or just downright creepy, but he did learn one thing from it all: he's never going to put himself out there like that again without concrete evidence that his feelings are returned. He did that with Lydia, and he was just lucky that no one else was around to witness his humiliation.

After all, Jackson doesn't need any more reason to detest him.

He _was_ stupid, and the way she'd stared at him without recognition when he tried to tell her how he felt, like she didn't know his name even though they've shared most of their classes their entire lives, made him determined that he won't embarrass himself like that again. Sure, things are little better now, after the night of the dance, after he stayed at the hospital to watch over her after Peter Hale got his claws into her (literally), but there's still nothing like friendship between them, something he's come to accept.

Derek is different.

Even more of a lost cause.

There are so many things standing in the way, more than there ever were between him and Lydia. The age difference, the issue of Derek never coming across as anything other than straight, the fact that Derek has known who he is for months now without displaying even proper friendliness.

Stiles thinks all of this as he drives to school on Monday morning. He is stalled at a red light and has one hand on the steering wheel, the other clutching a warm cup of coffee, and he takes a sip as he waits for the light to turn green. There's no rush to get to his destination (for once, there's no danger of being late) so he doesn't tap his fingers impatiently on the wheel like he normally would. The problem of what he'll say to Erica, Isaac and Boyd when he arrives actually makes him want to take longer than is necessary, to extend the drive in hopes of avoiding running into them before the first bell rings. It's childish, wanting to run away from the problems he's caused for himself, especially when he prides himself on being mature for his age, but he gives in anyway. The blaring of a horn behind him startles him into movement, and he looks up to see that the light is now green and probably has been for a few seconds if the reaction of his tailgater is anything to go by. Swiftly, he takes one last sip of coffee, emptying the cup, before tossing it onto the passenger seat, putting his foot down on the gas pedal and racing off down the road toward school.

 _No use putting it off any longer,_ he thinks as he takes his usual parking space.

There isn't a single sign of blonde hair or leather as he gets out of his Jeep, which sets him at ease a little. Either the betas aren't mad at him for being ignored, or they are and they're getting their own back.

As he approaches the main doors, Stiles keeps his eyes out for any of his new friends. He comes up with an excuse and resolves to apologise profusely as soon as he sees them for not getting back to any of them sooner. Turning the corner and walking down the hall that contains his locker, his steps falter when he sees Erica leaning against it, examining her nails. He wonders if she really hasn't sensed his presence or if it's an act.

"Hey," he greets as soon as he's within talking distance. He smiles shyly at Erica when she graciously moves aside to grant him access to his locker, and he inputs the combination before pulling it open and dumping inside some of the books that unnecessarily weigh down his backpack.

"Hey," Erica echoes, still keeping her eyes on her nails.

Stiles feels unsure of what to say.

"So what happened to you over the weekend?"

The blonde's question catches him off-guard, and he reels back and stares at her confusedly when he notes the look of smug satisfaction she wears on her face. This expression seems to confirm his theory that she was responsible for Derek's tank top ending up in his bag, but to call her out on it would be opening himself up to getting questions of his own, and he wants to avoid that at all costs. He stays silent on the matter. "Nothing much, just catching up on school work, mostly," he lies, and he hopes he does it well enough that she won't notice. "Sorry I didn't text or call you back, by the way. I needed to concentrate..."

"I'll bet," Erica scoffs, taking a step closer and subtly taking a deep breath. As she thought, beneath soap, deodorant and his own scent, Stiles carries faint traces of Derek, concentrated on the pale skin of his face. It's not fresh, and if she were to hazard a guess she'd say it was from a couple of days ago, but she knows exactly why it's there. She mentally pats herself on the back for having the ingenious idea to smuggle her alpha's sweaty tank top in the boy's backpack. Manipulation is always fun.

A few seconds later, Isaac and Boyd walk up and break the pair out of their staring contest. Stiles looks down at his feet as his mind and heart race, his face flushing red and giving away his discomfort.

"He lives!' Isaac proclaims as he thumps Stiles on the back.

The human boy is almost knocked over.

The curly-haired beta continues, leaving his arm slung around Stiles' shoulders in a display of familiarity and friendship. "Why didn't you get back to any of us, dude? We were worried you'd been eaten by wolves or something!" he asks jovially, releasing the other boy when he pulls away.

Boyd chuckles at this, crossing his arms over his chest and stepping a little closer to Erica. "Or one wolf in particular, though we all know you'd just enjoy that," he chimes in, turning to look at Erica with his eyebrows raised in confused when she slaps his arm. He rubs at the resulting ache for the few seconds it takes to fade before glaring at the blonde and huffing. "What was that for?!"

Erica is about to answer when Stiles beats her to it.

"W-what?" he stutters, his eyes wide in shock. He takes an aborted step backward, away from the trio of betas, and almost trips over his bag, which is at his feet. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That's why! You just let the cat out of the bag!" Erica exclaims, hitting Boyd again before clapping a hand over her eyes in frustration. When Stiles again demands an answer, she lowers it and sighs, wondering how best to phrase her next few sentences. "You see, Stiles...we've all known about your feelings for Derek for some time now," she smiles wryly when said boy's gaping mouth snaps shut and forms into a tight line, his whole face seeming to shut down, "and that's why we brought you to the station. We wanted to see what would happen with some gentle prodding if the two of you were in the same room..."

Stiles' heart skips a beat, and he bends down to pick his bag up off the floor.

"So the whole reason you 'introduced' yourself to me was like a game to you?" he asks coldly, keeping his face carefully blank so as to not give away how much the realisation hurts. _So much for new friends,_ he thinks sadly. "Because I have to tell you that's a pretty cruel thing to do."

"No!"

"God no!"

"Don't be stupid."

All three of the betas speak at the same time, and it's Erica who keeps talking. "This wasn't a game at all, Stiles, I swear!" she pleads, feeling remorse for making him think that. "We all genuinely do want to be your friends." She hears Isaac cough behind her. "Well, Isaac didn't at first, but that changed after he got to know you better... This is all my fault. I'm the one who came up with the whole idea. I wanted to help you, get you closer to Derek like you want, maybe see if he'd respond to you like you hoped he would."

The distrust slowly disappears from Stiles' face. "Oh..." he whispers, averting his eyes. "OK, I believe you, but you should give up on the rest of it. Derek doesn't think of me that way so there's no use in trying."

Her body relaxing, Erica frowns at Stiles' last sentence. "I don't know... I think he'd surprise you," she assures, watching as Stiles finally shuts his locker again and slips one of the straps of his backpack over his shoulder. She can tell he doesn't think that there's any truth to her words, so she persists. "Seriously, you should ask him why he's always sleeping in your room now. I think you'll like the answer you get." Stiles doesn't respond and the bell rings a second later, so she just pats him a couple of times on his free shoulder before walking with him to their first class of the day, shared by all of them but Boyd. The dark-skinned beta splits off after a couple of hallways with the promise to meet up for lunch, and they're just approaching their classroom when Erica feels eyes on the back of her head. She turns to look over her shoulder and grins when she sees Scott looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face. She winks at the crooked-jawed beta and pulls Stiles against her body. The move has its desired effect (Scott's eyes narrow suspiciously and his nostrils flare with jealousy) and a couple of seconds later they're through the door and Scott is out of sight.

* * *

_\- Saturday, April 2nd, 2011 -_

Stiles sits on Erica's words for days before putting them into practice.

At first he was going to ignore them completely and go back to living inside his little bubble of denial, but that changed when he found Derek once again sleeping in his bed the following Wednesday. It's been three days since then and he hasn't seen the alpha again yet, but that gives him time to bolster himself up and gather the courage he'll need to broach the difficult subject.

On Saturday morning, he wakes up to find another bag of curly fries on his nightstand, and once again they're piping hot and delicious. He thinks they must be from Derek (no other explanation comes to him, no matter how long he spends trying to think of one) but he doesn't know why the man would bother providing him with something like that. It gets added to the list of questions he'll ask the next time he gets Derek alone. Keeping the bag for evidence, Stiles gets up and considers his options:

He could not bring it up at all.

He could cut to the chase and go directly to Derek, confronting him head on.

Or he could wait for Derek to show up again.

The latter option seems like the safest one, so he decides to go about his life as normal until he finds Derek in his bed once more. Unlike the other three times, though, this time he'll stay in the room no matter what. He won't give Derek a window through which to escape, neither literally nor figuratively.

Derek probably won't show up if Stiles is there, so he checks his phone, gathers his clothes and enters the bathroom to prepare to spend the majority of the day out of the house. After relieving himself, he texts the betas and asks if they want to go to the movies or something to pass the time, and he gets a reply almost instantly. They all say yes, so he's quick to go down the stairs and get himself some breakfast. His dad isn't in the house (his police cruiser isn't in the driveway either) so Stiles assumes that he's at work. All the better, he thinks, knowing that Derek _definitely_ won't show up if the sheriff is in the house. A bowl of Lucky Charms disappears down his throat and then he's grabbing his keys and locking the front door on his way out.

* * *

Stiles doesn't get home until six o'clock that evening.

Once he'd explained what he was doing to Erica, she had offered up a surprising number of things to do that would occupy his mind. He was kept so busy, in fact, that he forgot all about his plan.

He's slow to pull into the driveway, wanting to keep his Jeep's engine as quiet as possible so that there's little chance of Derek hearing it and making a break for it before he can get there. Opening the driver's-side door, Stiles hops out and shuts it softly before going inside and taking the stairs two at a time until he stands before his bedroom door. He holds his breath as he reaches for the handle.

 _Score one for Stiles,_ he thinks when he lays eyes on Derek, asleep once more on his bed. He contemplates whether he should wake the man up and get this confrontation over with or if he should leave him be and let him wake up when he's gotten all the rest he needs. The second option seems like the safer one (after all, there's no point in potentially making Derek angry from the get-go; that would just make the answers he wants all the harder to get) so he decides to wait.

Shutting the door, he locks the window up tight as an extra precaution before sitting at his desk and switching on his laptop. He doesn't use headphones, not wanting to risk Derek waking up without his hearing it, and he catches up on some YouTube videos with the volume down low.

Still, Stiles almost misses it when Derek starts to rouse.

"Fuck..." he hisses.

 _Here goes nothing._ He stands and walks to stand between the bed and the window.

Derek stirs slowly. His nose twitches and his breathing picks up a little, no longer the long inhale-exhale of deep sleep. Stiles sees the exact moment in which Derek realises he's not alone. Derek's whole body goes tight and his breathing stops completely for several seconds. "I know you're awake," Stiles announces. His voice sounds a little scratchy so he clears his throat to remedy it.

Knowing it's useless to continue trying to act like he's asleep, Derek sighs before opening his eyes and sitting up. "Stiles," he says tersely before standing and moving to grab his jacket from the boy's chair.

"Any particular reason you've taken to sleeping in my bed recently?" Stiles asks, stepping in front of his chair and blocking the way before Derek can reach it. If he holds the man's jacket hostage then hopefully he'll be able to stop him from leaving before he gets the answers he needs. He acts like he has some modicum of confidence, meeting Derek's eyes without flinching even though in truth he feels like an ant about to be stepped on by something much larger. His rapidly beating heart gives away his nerves but he keeps up the facade, knowing he'll make this conversation play out completely regardless of its conclusion, whether good or bad.

The best case scenario is that he comes out of it alive.

Huffing, Derek shakes his head and tries to step around Stiles, get his jacket and leave, but Stiles just moves with him, surprisingly quick. He growls lowly, a warning, but still the boy doesn't budge. "Just drop it, Stiles!" he commands, his eyes narrowed with irritation. "It's none of your business!"

"'None of my business', huh? I'm gonna have to disagree with you there, considering that it's my bed you're sleeping in and all. Without permission, I might add," Stiles counters, resisting the urge to cower when Derek's eyes start glowing alpha-red. "Seriously, I'm not letting you out of here until you tell me what's going on, so you might as well just come out with it already and save us both the time."

Derek feels his claws unsheathe from his nails. He clenches his hands into fists to stop Stiles from seeing them, and they pierce his palms and wet his skin with blood. Even so, he doesn't relax them.

"I spoke to Erica and the others, you know."

This snaps Derek's attention back to Stiles, his mouth dropping open.

"Yeah. It was pretty interesting, and she said something that got me thinking."

"Oh?"

"Yup. I've been wracking my brain all week trying to figure you out, and I think I've got it," Stiles smirks, copying Derek's body language and crossing his arms. "I don't think you actually hate me as much as you'd have me believe. I mean, it's not like we see much of each other now that Scott's under control and Peter is dealt with, but still, you haven't shoved me into a wall or anything in weeks. Then there's the whole sleeping-on-slash- _in_ -my-bed thing. You wouldn't do that if you didn't like me at least a little bit. If you didn't, then you wouldn't hang around here at all, least of all sleep here. And the pièce de résistance..." He turns around and rummages in the top drawer of his desk for a second before holding something up in his hand. The angry expression still on Derek's face falters for a split second, letting Stiles know that he's definitely on the right track. "The curly fries. At first I couldn't for the life of me figure out where they came from, but then it hit me: as far as I know, apart from Erica that one time, you're the only person that's not me who's been in here for the past month." Now that its no longer needed, Stiles scrunches up the paper bag and bins it.

"The first time I found a bag I just assumed that maybe Scott left it as a sort of apology for being a dick to me," he continues, still watching Derek's face carefully for any more cracks. "But the second time changed my mind. Scott wouldn't be considerate enough to do something like that; nowadays, he's too oblivious to everything that's not Allison. That only leaves one option—you.

"I think you've been getting me curly fries to try and make up for stealing my bed." He gets a smug look on his face like he's solved a particularly difficult riddle. "Am I right?"

Derek is flabbergasted.

He's quick to conceal his surprise, smoothing his mask back into place. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Stiles," he denies, secretly pleased that, even though he was close, in the end, Stiles still managed to miss what this has all really been about. He couldn't take that. "Now move. I have other places to be."

"I'm not moving until you tell me, Derek," Stiles insists, continuing to stand his ground. He even goes so far as to pick up Derek's jacket himself, holding it behind his back and stepping to the side with newfound agility when the man leaps for him, to grab his jacket and run away, no doubt. He gets a little mad himself now, frustrated that Derek won't just admit the truth and put him out of his misery. "Seriously?! Just tell me! What are you so scared of? That I'll tell you to stop? That I'll think less of you? Because I won't."

His new position causes another scent in the room to catch Derek's attention.

He knows what it is.

It's something that shouldn't be there.

Frowning, he turns in the direction of Stiles' closet and tears the door open, almost ripping it off its hinges to get at the source of the smell. He hears Stiles ask him what he thinks he's doing but doesn't bother answering. Instead he tosses out everything in his way until he gets to what he's looking for, and he stares at Stiles over his shoulder when he has it in hand. "What is this?"

Flicking his eyes down, Stiles swallows tightly when he sees that Derek has found the tank top Erica put in his backpack. "Uhh, I can explain that!" he says quickly, crying out when he suddenly finds himself colliding back-first with the wall.

The impact seems to shake the whole house and knocks the breath from his lungs.

"Did you steal this?!" Derek demands, slamming his hand against the wall right next to Stiles' head. He gets up close to the boy until their noses are almost touching. "What gives you the right? Are you that desperate for any sort of contact that you'll stoop to something as pathetic as stealing someone else's clothes? Is that what you were doing down at the station? I don't know how you got this past my betas, but if I ever catch you there or see you anywhere near me or them again, then I promise you, you won't like what happens next..." With one last snarl, he snatches his jacket back from Stiles' shaking hands and leaps out through the window.

Stiles slumps to the floor with a soft thud.

"Fuck..."


	5. Hurt Feelings and a Stilted Explanation

_\- Monday, April 4th, 2011 -_

Stiles wakes up to the annoying blaring of his alarm. He reaches blindly for his phone and fumbles to stop the noise, groaning when he accidentally knocks it off the nightstand. It bounces across the floor and out of reach. He'll have to get up to retrieve it, so after taking a second to lament his sleep being disturbed he levers himself up on his arms and slides reluctantly out of bed. His body doesn't cooperate fully so he ends up slithering to the floor himself instead of standing on his feet, but it gets him to his quarry so he doesn't mind too much.

When the obnoxious ringing of his alarm is finally silenced, Stiles slumps against the side of his bed and leans his head back against the mattress. The corner digs into the base of his neck but he doesn't care. He really doesn't want to have to deal with school today. School means seeing the betas, and he's absolutely certain that they'll all want to know what happened between him and Derek after they parted ways on Saturday.

He doesn't know what he'll say.

 _Fuck my life_...

Foolishly, to save face, he'd been hoping to avoid ever having to inform Erica about the abysmal failure of their plan. He'd rather not relive everything Derek had spat at him.

That's what he spent the rest of the weekend doing, going over Derek's hate-filled words again and again until it all seemed to blend into the simple feeling of humiliation. His skin flushes with it now, and he doesn't know how he's going to get through the day without looking like a tomato the whole time. He hasn't seen Derek at all since that evening, not that he expected to. Derek made himself more than clear, and that's another reason he's reluctant to get up off his ass and go to school. If he does, he'll be disobeying one of the very explicit orders he was given (to stay away from the betas) and he doesn't need to give Derek another reason to hate his guts. The man already has enough, even if it was all a terrible misunderstanding. He hadn't even gotten a chance to tell Derek how he'd really acquired the tank top, that he wasn't the one responsible for it landing in his possession, but he supposes that hardly matters now. Regardless of how it came about, he has his answer now, conclusively: Derek despises him. Sleeping on and in his bed must just have been a way to taunt him, to play with his delicate little feelings until Derek found his tank top and it suddenly got less fun.

The sound of his backup alarm going off is what gets him up off the floor and moving. He's dismayed to find that his eyes have welled up with all of his thinking, and he wipes hastily at them and checks them in the mirror to make sure they're not red, giving him away. Luckily they're not, so he's safe there.

He sees no point in hiding himself away any longer, so he gets dressed and goes downstairs to face the world. After grabbing his bag he walks right out the door without giving himself a chance to second-guess it, and the journey to school he takes in silence. He doesn't even turn on the radio to distract and keep himself company, and sooner than he'd like he's parking in the lot.

The betas must have been eagerly anticipating his arrival because, as soon as Stiles is out of his Jeep, he's surrounded. Erica and Isaac are on him like dogs on peanut butter while Boyd stands in the background.

"Dude, where've you been?!"

"It went well, I assume?"

"Were you with Derek this whole time?!"

"Yeah, Derek's been gone all weekend. We want the dirty details!"

"Uhh..."

"Tell us how it happened! What was it like?"

Erica says the latter, though it's clear that she uses the word 'we' rather loosely. Neither Isaac nor Boyd look like they want to hear the sordid stories of their alpha's sex life, something which Stiles supposes he understands. While he himself would delight in tale after tale of sexual exploits starring none other than Derek Hale (at least he would have, before Saturday) he wouldn't want to know about those perpetrated by anyone he sees as a person of authority or a parental figure, like Derek must be for them.

Even the mere thought makes him shudder.

Stiles holds up his hand to silence Erica and Isaac and cut off any more excited and probing questions. "Hate to disappoint you but no, it didn't go well," he explains, causing both betas' faces to fall. He somehow feels guilty for bringing their enthusiasm to an end. "He refused to tell me anything and then he found his tank top," he looks pointedly at Erica, "and got mad. Safe to say your theory about him was wrong, so I'd rather just drop it and never mention it again, OK?" He keeps things vague but, even so, the brief recounting has left him feeling sad all over again, just like he knew it would. The first bell rings, indicating that it's time for everybody to get to their first periods. Despondently, he trots off to do just that.

None of the betas follow immediately, and he misses the determined expression Erica wears for a second on her face before she hurries to catch up and accompany him.

* * *

Erica has always had a fiery temper.

Ever since she was a child old enough to be self-aware, she's tried to hide it. It got her into a lot of trouble and she'd quickly sussed that, if she learned to control it, then she wouldn't get grounded as much. Of course, that was easier said than done (she was grounded at least once a month anyway), but still, she tried.

The trying was rendered unnecessary when she entered her teenage years and began having seizures. Her epilepsy made her so tired that she no longer had the energy to get angry, even if something happened that would ordinarily elicit such a reaction. She become isolated, overprotected by her parents and ostracised in the school hallways. Long story short, she was miserable. That all changed when Derek came along.

She become indebted to the man for rescuing her from that hell, and with the departure of her epilepsy came the return of her temper, dimmed from years of disuse but still there nevertheless.

It's been years since she's felt as angry as she does now.

Seeing Stiles look so sad, like he'd given up, tapped into something protective inside her that she didn't know was there. Sure, she used to have a crush on Stiles, but it had been long enough since she thought about the human boy in that way that she thought those feelings were gone entirely. Clearly that's not the case, though they have taken on a more platonic form now that she has Boyd. She had bided her time and, as soon as school let out, she'd got straight in her car and raced off to the station to confront Derek. _What the hell does he think he's doing_? she'd thought to herself as she slammed open the rusted door and stormed down the steps.

Now, she waits. There had been no reason to come here over the weekend because she had assumed that Derek was off showing Stiles a good time, so the fact that Derek's scent is faint, like he hasn't been here for several days either, shouldn't be surprising. Considering what she knows now, though, it is.

 _He's probably off somewhere, brooding_.

 _Douche_.

Erica kicks up her feet on the lawn table and plays some stupid game on her phone.

She'll wait him out. Derek will have to return eventually (all his clothes are still in the train car) so she'll stay as long as she has to. She simply must talk some sense into her alpha. She'll reprimand him first, of course (her simmering rage makes her confident enough that her beta status won't matter should they come to blows) but then she'll make him see the truth and stop him from being such an imbecile.

It's closing in on dusk when Erica hears footsteps. They pause outside for a few seconds (she assumes that Derek is wondering why she's still here) and then they continue, getting closer.

The door opens and Derek saunters in, leather jacket and surly expression on, an extra couple of days of stubble across his jaw, and what looks like a bag of takeout in one hand. He stares at her before walking down the last few steps and placing the bag on the table, right next to her legs. The heat feels good as it seeps into her bare skin. "What did you get?" she asks, sniffing the air. She hadn't had the forethought to bring any food with her and the prospect of a hot meal causes her to realise just how hungry she is.

"Chinese," Derek replies succinctly.

He takes a seat across from her and pulls the bag close. "And no, you can't have any."

"That's a great mood you're in, there," Erica observes sarcastically. She purses her lips, knowing that this will make him less receptive to what she has to tell him. She hopes a full stomach will help, and once the last container has been emptied, she stands. "Aren't you going to ask me why I'm here?"

"Why would I?" Derek retorts, watching her carefully as she walks around the small rickety table and snatches up the rubbish. It's not like her to clear up, least of all for other people, so he knows that something he won't like is about to happen. "I know you'll just tell me anyway, regardless of whether or not I actually want to hear it, so come out with it already." He stands himself, crossing his arms.

Smiling wryly, Erica turns from the bin back to Derek, crossing her own arms.

The way they both stand and their current seedy location makes her feel as if she's in some crime film or something, like they are in two opposing gangs and are about to have a shootout.

"You're a fucking moron," she says.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me: you're a fucking moron." Erica tilts her head to the side and smiles, satisfied with the outrage that appears on Derek's face. She continues before he can stop gaping and respond, feeling and letting her anger take hold, all the more potent for being held back during the hours she waited for this confrontation. "I knew you were a dumbass but I never thought for a second that you could be so cruel and oblivious! You should've seen Stiles at school today, Derek. He looked completely defeated, like someone had killed his dog. Why would you do that to him? I know you like him, Derek, so why the fuck would you treat him like that, like he's nothing more than a piece of shit on the bottom of your shoe?!" She's almost spitting by this point, getting right up in her alpha's equally angry face and refusing to bare her neck or back down, even when he growls at her threateningly to get her to stop. "Stiles didn't steal your stupid tank top, by the way, so you getting mad at him for that was pointless. _I_ put it in his bag when he wasn't looking because I know he likes you, too, though right now I can't see why he would waste his time. You're clearly not worth it."

Derek tries valiantly to get a handle on himself. The alpha wolf prowling around inside his head longs to be freed, to be allowed to bash some respect into Erica and remind her of her place. He doesn't let it, though, as much as he wants to, because he refuses to be one of those alphas who controls their pack with power.

His mother warned him of those alphas.

She told him once about how they were unpredictable and how their choice to dominate through force instead of any other method more often than not blows up in their faces. Talia tried to set a better example for him, Laura and Cora, that respect is best when given freely, not taken. It's difficult, though. His instincts are telling him that he really, _really_ wants to smack Erica around a little as punishment for her insolence.

Taking a deep breath, Derek successfully calms himself back down (for the most part) and returns to their conversation. When he speaks, his voice comes out controlled and he mentally pats himself on the back for reasonably quickly getting a handle on his newly tumultuous emotions. "I'll apologise for getting mad about the top—and mark my works, we will be talking about how shitty it is to steal people's things like that, even if you think it's for a good cause—and I won't object to him hanging around with you and the other two, but that's it. I don't like him the way you think I do, so you're barking up the wrong tree."

Erica scoffs disbelievingly. "Yeah, right..."

"I'm serious."

"You're such a bad liar, it's shocking."

Huffing indignantly, Derek turns to head inside the train car to try and get some sleep (his nights are usually restless nowadays, annoyingly with few exceptions) but Erica isn't quite finished.

"What's stopping you?" she asks, looking at him with pity now.

"Why do you care so much?" Derek counters, glaring at her over his shoulder. All the anger seems to have seeped out of her, and her eyes are now lugubrious. "You've only known Stiles for a couple of weeks, and me a little longer, so why are you so invested in shoving us together?"

"He's my friend and you're my alpha, and I want you both to be happy, that's all," Erica replies with a sigh. Already she can tell that Derek won't open up to her (if he would open up to anyone at all, she doesn't know) but she hopes that what she's said will stick with him and make him act. Derek doesn't answer, so she picks her bag up and walks over to the steps to leave. "He loves you, you know."

Derek rolls his eyes. "No, he doesn't."

"Maybe not love, not yet, but I can tell it's close. If you're really set on continuing to deny yourself, then the least you can do is be fair and let him down easy so that he can move on."

With that, she marches outside and into the darkening evening.

* * *

_\- Friday, April 8th, 2011 -_

As much as he doesn't want to, for the rest of the week Derek keeps thinking about Erica's parting words. Even though he still doesn't really have any plans to pursue what he's feeling (his resolve is cracking, though, slowly) now that he knows the truth he does feel bad for how he'd treated Stiles the previous weekend. Stiles didn't deserve that, probably not even if he actually was responsible for Derek's tank top ending up in the back of his closet. Sighing, Derek bangs his head against the steering wheel of his Camaro before making up his mind: he's going to return to Stiles' bedroom and make amends for everything he said out of anger. But that's all. The rest of it he won't budge on, no matter what (he hopes).

He finds that Stiles' light is the only one on in the entire Stilinski household when he pulls up on the curb a few houses down. The sheriff's cruiser isn't in the driveway and it's late in the evening, so he climbs up to Stiles' window without worrying about being seen. He trusts the darkness to cover him.

The window itself is closed.

The curtains are closed as well, and Derek spends almost a full minute listening to the quiet sounds coming from within, trying to guess what Stiles is doing. He can hear clearly the clicking of computer keys and the occasional squeak of Stiles' chair. Not giving himself a chance to reconsider and back out, Derek scans the area (no one is around; all the neighbours are in their own homes) and raises his fist to knock, loudly. He holds his breath when he hears the noise on the other side suddenly cut off.

One last squeak of the chair. Footsteps. A fluttering heartbeat.

Then the curtains are drawn.

Stiles stares at him with wide eyes and an open mouth, understandably shocked that he's there. Derek tries for what he hopes is a reassuring smile, but he can't quite get his mouth to cooperate.

It probably comes off more like a grimace. It takes Stiles a few seconds to school his face back to normal and only then does he reach for the lock on the window, flipping it open and stepping back to allow Derek entrance. Derek takes it, not entering further than a foot just yet. "Hi," he speaks lamely as Stiles retakes his seat in front of his desk. The human teen frowns at him, silently asking if that's all he has to say.

"Umm..." Derek fumbles for something else, for words that will explain everything that's been happening in the past few weeks. They don't come, and he cringes when Stiles sighs, shakes his head and returns his focus to his computer, giving up on him already. It hurts a surprising amount.

"I'm sorry," he tries.

"Is that all?" Stiles responds, still facing the screen. "Because you can leave now if it is."

Derek shakes his head before remembering that Stiles can't see the action. "No, that's not all. I... I came here to apologise for, you know...yelling at you, accusing you of stealing my things, threatening you..." He cringes again as he lists off all of his wrongdoings and feels like more of an ass with each passing second. "I also want to tell you...to tell you why I've been sleeping here recently."

This catches Stiles' attention.

His fingers freeze, hovering over the keys, and his head jerks up. "I'm listening," he relents, spinning in his chair until he faces Derek again. He leans back and crosses his arms defensively across his chest, protecting and preparing himself for the inevitability that Derek's explanation will be a load of crap.

Now that the time has actually come for him to speak, Derek doesn't know what he should say. He shuffles awkwardly under Stiles' gaze, wondering when their roles got reversed, making him feel like the weak one. _Funny how things change_ , he thinks wryly. "Right, well... I don't know why but, ever since I killed Peter and became the alpha, my wolf has been...telling me things. Not telling, exactly, but...it's just a feeling I get. I haven't been able to get a good night's sleep in years, not really, but it's been especially bad lately. I keep trying to hold out as long as I can but...but _here_ is the only place where I can seem to relax." He gestures to Stiles' bed. "It didn't make any sense to me...none at all. I mean, _you_? Why the hell would I only be able to sleep properly in _your_ room, of all places?! Wait- that came out worse than I meant it... Damn it!" He wrings his hands and growls in frustration, at himself and at the situation. It's so hard to get the words out, so he paces a little, back and forth in front of the open window. His body feels flushed, hotter than usual, and the cool air from outside helps. "I have all these new instincts and I have no fucking idea what I'm supposed to do with them. I gave in and turned the betas because an alpha needs a pack, but that apparently wasn't enough for my wolf...

"It had to get you, too."

The last part slips out before Derek can stop it, and he clamps his mouth shut when he releases what he's just said. Stiles' breathing has stopped, and Derek stays exactly where he stands, facing the opposite wall, refusing to turn around and see the look on the boy's face. He stays still even when Stiles gets to his feet and approaches him, and he lifts his eyes a few inches higher so that he's looking over the top of Stiles' head when they end up standing in front of each other. He hardly dares to make a sound.

"What do you mean, 'it had to get me, too'?" Stiles asks shakily. He reaches out tentatively, touches Derek on the arm, and takes it as a good sign when the man doesn't shy away. "Derek?"

Keeping his eyes trained on the wall, Derek sighs. "I didn't understand why my wolf suddenly became so fixated on you until a couple of days before the tank-top thing..." he mumbles. "The curly fries, the fact that I can't sleep well anywhere else but here... All of that stems from one thing: the instinct to find a mate, and, for some reason...my wolf has chosen you."

Stiles' breath hitches.

"What does that mean?" he asks. He has his suspicions, but he needs to be sure.

"It means that my wolf has chosen you as my mate, that your scent calms me down and that you're supposed to help me take care of the betas..." Derek replies quietly, preparing himself for rejection. It would be a lot to put on anyone's shoulders, even if they were fully grown.

"Is it just your wolf?" Stiles whispers, taking his hand back and looking down at his feet.

Derek is confused. "What do you mean?" he asks, finally tearing his eyes away from the wall and looking at the top of Stiles' buzzed head. All he can smell is the sadness emanating from the boy, irritating his nostrils.

"I mean...is it just your wolf that's interested in me?" Stiles reiterates. He tries to make his voice stronger and looks Derek directly in the eye because he wants to appear strong, even when he feels like he wants to curl up in the corner of his room and die, just to escape how shitty he feels. His question has one answer, he knows, and he's already sure that he's not going to like it. "I don't know how it works. Scott's tried explaining it to me in the past but I couldn't really understand it. Are you and the wolf like, the same person who feels the same things...or is it just the wolf and you yourself still can't stand me?"

Derek stays silent, unable to speak.

"I thought so..." Stiles sighs, turning away and going back to his desk.

"It's not," Derek finally manages to get out, after intense effort. He doesn't think Stiles hears him (the boy doesn't react at all) so he tries again. Closing the distance, he stands behind Stiles, grabs the back of the computer chair and spins him back around before crouching down so that they're at eye-level. "It's not just my wolf, Stiles...as convenient as it would be if it were. You have to understand: this isn't easy. Your dad's the sheriff and you're still so young... I don't want to force you into this."

Swallowing difficultly, Stiles feels hope stir in his gut for the first time in weeks. "I appreciate that, Derek, but I'm already in this," he points out, closing his eyes when Derek rests their foreheads together. "With Scott, and now the betas and you, there's no way I'm staying out of it.

"And if I can have you, too, in that way...then I think we can manage."

"I'm not good with...feelings. I don't know how to do this," Derek mumbles.

Smiling, Stiles rests a hand on Derek's thigh and squeezes reassuringly. "Well, in case you haven't noticed, I don't really have much experience with things like this, either. We'll figure it out together."

Miraculously, Derek is convinced.

"OK," the alpha accepts.

The next thing Stiles knows, lips are on his. They're gentle, softer than he would've thought, and everything he has been hoping for for months. The kiss never goes beyond that, staying chaste and sweet, and Stiles finds that it means more to him that way. "You, uhh...wanna have a nap or something?" he asks quietly when it ends a minute later and he pulls back. " 'Cause, no offence, you look like you could use one."

Derek snorts. "Sure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you guys enjoyed it but that's it for this fic. **I'll be starting a brand-spanking-new series on Thursday, April 21st, and it'll still be Sterek, so if you subscribe to me you'll be among the first to know when it goes live!** ;) Also, if you haven't already, in the mean time you can check out my first 445k-strong series [Smouldering Hearts](http://archiveofourown.org/series/245311).
> 
> **Don't forget to leave some kudos and drop a comment down below to let me know what you thought!**


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